


The One with the Inept Lab Assistant

by FaZe_Yangers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-28 21:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20071225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaZe_Yangers/pseuds/FaZe_Yangers
Summary: Lynx is trapped in a Hydra facility on an intel-gathering mission.





	The One with the Inept Lab Assistant

“Take a deep breath,” The warm, deep voice floated into my ears and broke through my thoughts.   
“Calm your mind. You know what is best,” It continued, washing over everything else.   
“What is best is you comply. Compliance will be rewarded.”   
“Now, Agent Lynx, are you ready to comply?”  
Snap out of it, a distant thought tugged at me.   
“Certainly not, you SOB,” I muttered, searching for the speaker. I looked disdainfully at the bars holding me and wondered where Singularity was for the extraction.  
Three armed guards opened a panel, grabbed my arms, and tossed me out my cell. After putting a bag over my head, they shoved me down endless hallways.   
“Right, left, left, right, left, right,” I thought, but it was no use. Finally, I was laid down and the bag was removed. Bright lights lasered my eyes. I was on a stupid medical table.  
“It is time,” a tall, grey-haired man said, walking in. His glasses were too small for his beady eyes.   
“And you’re Daniel Whitehall,” I said. “Douche extraordinaire. Hydra scientist. All-around terrible person.”  
He ignored me. “Everybody out,” he said.   
“But sire!” said some random dude in the corner. “Our troops!”  
“Just do it!” Whitehall yelled.   
“Discovery requires experimentation,” he said slowly, enunciating every syllable, savoring it.   
“It that, like, your mantra?” I said. “Seriously. Dude. A therapist. Consider it.”  
The same guy opened the door and announced, “Bad news! We have just been informed by our inept lab assistant, Igor, that he may have accidentally contaminated a bottle of the metal hydrate BaCl2•2H2O with an unknown amount of KCl. In order to find the purity of our BaCl2•2H2O, we heat 9.51 g of the metal hydrate mixture to remove water from the sample. After heating, the sample has a reduced mass of 9.14 g. What is the mass percent of BaCl2•2H2O in the original mixture?  
Saying nothing, he took a scalpel from a scary-looking set of tools and twirled it over in his fingers. I gulped. When was the extraction?  
“So this weapon of yours, what is it?” I said, stalling.  
“Powerful enough to rip the Earth apart. Then there will be nothing,” he said ominously.   
I have the intel, I R.E.A.L.L.Y. need the extraction.   
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” He said. “Where shall I toss your corpse once this is over?”  
The blade danced through my leg, ripping and shredding flesh for a few inches. It didn’t make a ripping or shredding sound, but rather a squishing sound, like when one is squeezing uncooked meatloaf. White-hot pain seared through me, and I grunted loudly.   
“Just testing it out,” he said, flicking it as a drop of blood splattered onto my face. I struggled against the restraining bands. He put a muffler against my mouth.   
The next cut was deeper, longer, and more excruciating. He slid, cut, and sawed through the thin skin on my abdomen. The pain of a thousand mustaches seared through my body. It felt worse, like getting ripped apart at the torso. A steady, trickling warmth oozed down my sides, soaking my shirt. I grunted into the muffler.  
“These organs are not for sale,” I said weakly.  
He giggled, then guffawed, then laughed, and laughed, and laughed. He couldn’t stop. He dropped down to his knees and grasped at his throat. He slid down and collapsed, unconscious. My claws slid out quickly, and making sure not to cut myself, tore through other restraining bands. I slit a major artery that should keep him unconscious but alive, to be questioned back at HQ. I tied my shirt tightly, but it kept on bleeding. Soon, it would soak through. I looked at my surroundings, pondering my next move. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the foundations and the wall outside the glass viewing chamber exploded into rubble. I opened the door and there it finally was. Singularity sat in my Lambo with a C4 remote detonator in her hand.  
“About damn time,” I called. “Why the hell are you late?”   
“Kicked ass on the way,” she said. “2 armored vans. And the duck. Get in!”  
“What the hell did the damn duck do now?” I quoted.  
I slid in and closed the roof. Unlike the fabric ones, the convertible roof thing was made of a steel-titanium-vibranium alloy that folded in 2 seconds. Things started swimming in and out of view. I placed my thumb on the biometric scanner and a holographic display lit up from a compartment in the dashboard. The car morphed into flight mode and the thrusters shot us off the ground. A few stray bullets ricocheted and zinged off the car.   
“Z-one, we are clear,” I said on comms. “Go to town.”  
Rockets shot past us and razed the complex to the ground, in a spectacular explosion that blew rubble to the sky.   
“And,” S said proudly, “each contains a warhead with 10 kilograms of a sublimating airborne dendrotoxin. Designed by Simmons.”  
She grabbed a syringed and pumped my wound full of it, stopping bleeding for a bit.   
“That’s only a temporary fix,” she said. “This next one is gonna hurt.” She said. I whimpered quietly. She wrapped a tight bandage around the affected area, applying lots of pressure as the juices inside me gurgled and fought against the treatment. I screamed and wriggled violently in my seat. The pain finally died down.  
“Use your inside voice,” she said.


End file.
